


Rose-coloured Glasses

by banrionsi



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Oh god this was just gonna be Jack being an asshole and ghosting you after y'all fuck, This story is dubcon and Jack is manipulative and morally fucked so beware, Writing fanfic to process my shitty exbf, dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-28
Updated: 2020-05-30
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:41:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24425974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/banrionsi/pseuds/banrionsi
Summary: When you're wearing rose-coloured glasses red flags just look like flags
Relationships: Jack | Whiskey/Reader
Comments: 9
Kudos: 32





	1. Chapter 1

You've watched him for what feels like your entire life. Stolen glances over the conference table, lingering gazes when he isn't looking. Steadily monitoring the rise and fall of his chest when he inevitably ends up in Med Bay again. Soothing his restless eyes under bronze lids with soft barely-there touches until his consciousness is once again peaceful. Often you'll wonder what haunts him so when he closes his eyes but then you feel silly and ask yourself instead what doesnt haunt him. Statesman isn't the place for those who fear losing sleep.  


Sometimes you catch him eyeing you back. His burning gaze may as well be a dancing lick of flame for the heat it pierces you with, filling your core with molten lava and bringing a scarlet flush to your cheeks. 

There is no way Jack doesnt know of your infatuation - it doesnt take a Statesman agent to see through you. You both play a game of cat and mouse, your quick glances bouncing off each other in a game of chicken but you realise too late Jack is no chicken and he is no mouse and he plays the part deliberate because otherwise you'll spook.  


Jack Daniels is beautiful and wild and he is a whirlpool, sucking you in deeper and deeper with each honeyed word and casual touch. From your first day at Statesman you were under his spell. Somewhere in the middle of icing his knuckles, stitching up his knife wound, and him tipping his hat at you you'd become completely and utterly enamoured. And Jack knew it. Could spot your naïvety from a mile away, catalogue your blush each time he brushed a hand against yours, and the break in your voice when he called you a petname. 

You weren't inexperienced with men but he could figure out early enough that you werent experienced with gentlemen and the soft attention that comes with being courted in the South - he makes you coffee the way you like it, holds the door open, and he walks you to your car when the days grow short and dark.  
Jack Daniels is a gentleman.  
You are a fool.

You're busy taking stock of supplies in medbay when next Jack comes to see you. He drops in often just to catch up, just to see how red he can make you before he leaves to his own office. Today, Jack swings open your door with a coffee tray in hand and a smooth "Afternoon darlin'".  


His presence is a welcome reprieve from the monotony of your current task and you're quick to sit up from your desk and face him. Jack comes around to face you and perch on the edge of your desk like usual and when he hands you your tea made just the way you like it you relish in the thrill of having a _usual_ 𝘢𝘭 with him. Being part of his life, no matter how small, makes the space in your chest expand until the thrill of it feels like it wont fit anymore and you will burst.  


"Say sweetheart, you look fit to keel over", Jack squints at you over the rim of his coffee cup, his tone inflected with concern and he finds it almost laughable how easy it is to make you feel special, like someone notices you. Your smile is soft but genuine and your eyes are warm when you dismiss him gently, murmuring about necessary evils of taking inventory and proper supplies.  


He waits to play his trump card, choosing instead to discuss the sparse details he can share from his last mission. You hang to his every word, desperate to ride the coattails of his adventures and procure some adrenaline from the tales spun from his lips. He likes the attention. The admiration. Unwavering and unbroken because you still don't really know Jack. You see the skin he wears and the sway of his hips but underneath is something formed of shadow and blood and gunpowder, prowling jagged and foaming at the mouth for something to make him feel alive and not like the faustian monster he is. You look at Jack like he's something worth looking at. Listen like hes something worth listening to. Like he's someone.  
You don't know him.


	2. Chapter 2

When Jack asks you if you'd care to accompany him for drinks, with that drawl and those dark eyes smouldering you are half convinced you must be dreaming. In the middle of wrapping gauze around his forearm, you just stop dead. Breath hitched in your throat and heart thumping hard enough to break through your ribs. His gaze is searing into yours and where your hands touch his skin it sends little jolts of electricity through you. He looks earnest and genuine, his face open and eyebrows relaxed but you still catch him nibbling his bottom lip. A nervous tic. Which means...means he's _worried_ 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘥 you'll say no. And that revelation, the idea that Jack wants you to agree so much, that he wants you to want to see him outside of work makes you flush with excitement.  


You break out into a smile too big for your face and tell him you'd love to, a soft laugh escaping your lips with the surprise of it all. He grins back at you while you finish wrapping his hand and set it back on his denim clad thigh. He watches you with a dark glint in his eyes and adjusts the stetson sat on top of that shiny hair you admire so much. His teeth are bared a little too much, the curve of his lip a little too like a snarl, but in your head-spinning elation you don't notice. As you chat with him and make arrangements for tonight, you burn the image of him in your minds eye. Lounging on the examination table, adorned in too tight jeans that show those thighs you love so much, and most importantly how he looks at you. In that moment you think Jack Daniels smiling at you, because of you, is the most beautiful thing you've ever seen.

You only have an hour after work to get ready for your date and its the most stressful hour of your life. You don't feel confident in any outfits you try on and at one point you start crying, heaving sobs while you're crumpled on your carpeted floor. You are going on a date with the most handsome man you've ever seen in your life. He's a goddamn cowboy, he's a secret agent who can also fly planes, and you've wanted him since you saw him and now you're supposed to be going on a date with him except how can you when you feel like shit in everything you wear and you cant believe this date is going to be ruined because you'll show up looking terrible and feeling terrible and Jesus Christ of all the nights for your self-esteem to up and leave it really had to be _this_ 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 one.  


With ten minutes to go until Jack is to pick you up, you drag yourself off the floor and you thank God your makeup is waterproof. By the time he's knocking on your door and leading you to his car you've settled on just highwaisted jeans and a top to show a little cleavage. You still feel ugly as all hell and Jack can spot it from the way you shrivel in on yourself and won't make eye contact.  


He holds the door of his bronco open for you and just as you go to slide in, he stops you with a gentle grip on your arm. He tugs you into him and brings a large hand up to cradle your face while his other arm wraps around his waist. Pressed against him like this you feel tiny, swamped by his broad shoulders and tall frame He wears the same outfit he wore to work - tight dark jeans and an olive Henley that complements his warm skin, underneath his usual denim jacket with patched shoulders. He looks good and you always think he looks so good no matter what and after admiring him you only feel worse about yourself.  


He snaps you out of it with a caress of his thumb across your chin and gazes down at you. His lips are slightly parted and your eyes track his tongue as it swipes across them.  


"You look gorgeous darlin", he whispers to you, and you don't miss it when his eyes leaves yours to flick to your chest and then back up again. The effect of him finding you attractive and saying it out loud (and through his gaze) is immediate and by the time you both disengage from each other and slip into the car you feel a million times better.  


He's a perfect gentleman all night, holding open doors and helping you from your seat with a warm hand and nods of his head "darlin". You sit in the back of the bar, tucked into a booth, and as the night draws on and you both get through drink after drink (Whiskey of course for Jack - you aren't surprised), you migrate closer to each other until by midnight you are securely tucked under Jacks arm. He rubs circles absentmindedly on your arm and you talk about what feels like everything under the sun. His face is so close to yours you feel his breath ghost against your lips as he murmurs with his deep baritone. His other hand had found its way onto your thigh and you are acutely aware of its presence. You wish you could brand the imprint of it into your skin.  


He buys another round, brandy shots this time. You throw your heads back and neck them together and when a drop slides down the ridge of your lip Jack catches it with his thumb. He swipes it across your lip and then - he lightly pushes down against your soft bottom lip until his thumb is pressed against the tip of your tongue. His eyes are locked onto yours, scorching as always, and the alcohol has given you enough confidence to wrap your lips around your thumb and suck it, tasting the salt of his skin with the tip of your wet muscle.  


You feel powerful. For once. His thumb is in your mouth, his arm around you, and you feel wanted. Desirable. Attractive. You would do anything Jack wanted if it meant you could feel so good for even a little bit longer.  
And you do.

He takes you home.  
His apartment overlooks central park but you don't have time to admire the view when he's all over you, all-consuming, a wildfire burning you up. He's all you've wanted for so long, all you've dreamed of and all you've touched yourself to.  


Your dreams are nothing like reality. He's rough and demanding and when you drop to your knees for him like you've fantasised, he holds your head in his hands and fucks into you with sharp and brutal snaps of his hips. All you want is to be loved and as you gag and cry a little on his cock and gaze up at his terrible beautiful face you tell yourself that will take love in any form you can get from Jack.  


When he finally pulls off your knees and carries you to the bed, he wastes no time before tugging down your jeans over your legs. He flips you around onto your hands and knees and then he's pressing inside you. You stare down at his grey bedsheets and focus on how soft they are, focus on anything but how impersonal this is. He shoves your head into the sheets, back arched ass up, and rubs your clit with the rough pads of his fingers in tight furious circles.  


You choke out his name when you come but its buried in the sheets and the warmth of your orgasm is nowhere near enough to heat your cold body. It is numb to you and you feel disconnected. Degraded. Humiliated. He doesn't ask before he gives a last hard thrust and finishes inside you.  


You dress as fast as you can and he smiles at you and thanks you for the evening. Calls you a cab and you leave his apartment and wait outside in the street. Time loses meaning.  


You transfer to Kentucky HQ.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was just gonna be Jack being a fuckboy but then I started writing it and i started thinking about how when you really like someone you'll do anything to get attention from them and then when they give you the attention you crave you just want to keep it so bad and you have lowselfesteem but they make you feel good and you'll do things you dont necessarily like to do during sex because you need them and the comfort they bring yoi and then when its over you just feel sick and when you go home you sort of think about what happened and then the rose-coloured glasses finally come off and ur like,,,,wow what the fuck that was so manipulative


End file.
